


Looking in the Mirror

by Fruityfella



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Incest, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruityfella/pseuds/Fruityfella
Summary: A drabble of me projecting onto korekiyo about him struggling with his trauma. Content warning for Korekiyo's trauma and hopelessness related to it.Fetishization of his trauma and those who partake in such are not welcome here.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Looking in the Mirror

Nights like these make it hard to look in the mirror.

you say you're not sure why. You don't look especially like her, but you know that's not it. nights like these remind you of what she did, and when you see yourself, you're reminded that she did that to you.

Some nights, it's a joke someone makes landing a little to close to home. some lack of consideration for who their audience is and who may hear it.

Some days, it's a passing comment, not even about her. someone mentions a family member back at home, and your mind wanders to your own family. sometimes even in conversations you participate in, and you have no choice but to reluctantly stay and listen.

At times, its something they don't realize is about her. why are you less invested in your studies? why do you wear a mask? whatever is going on with that uniform of yours? you tell them it's nothing, but your mind pours over the answers.

Anthropology was always her passion, something she brought to you, and while you liked it, you know she influenced your talents. Now the words bring you back to cold hospitals, filled with the scent of sanitizer. the way she used to cough out words in rants to you. the odd little movements she made at times that you would flinch at for a moment. the doctors said you always had to wear that mask, but she would grab it from your face at times, when they weren't there and...

there it is. that urge to cry. the fear of mirrors. the need to crack open your mind and tear out every fold and be rid of it for good. no thoughts to intrude, no memories to resurface.

these nights make you want to cut your hair. whenever you don't see the person she hurt in the mirror, you see her. the poison in her eyes, the venom in her teeth. the way she new how too make you listen with that tone of voice. the night she got violent enough to make you fear for your life. the way she made you think you wanted it- that you liked it. the way that even now, having not seen her in years, she still haunts you.

you want to cut it all off. shave to a buzz or a bob. you want to see clumps of her hair on the ground, and to be able to sweep them out with her once and for all.

you want to look in the mirror and not see a victim. to not see an abuser.

you want to look in the mirror and see a survivor.

but that fear creeps in, the reminder people will refuse to see you as anything more than their biases. that you will never be more than a freak, a fetish, a monster. that you will deserve it.

it's a fear that rips you apart from the inside out, that relishes any chance to destroy any hope you build up.

it's a reminder that, at the end of the day, there will always be an ultimate survivor, and every time, it won't be you.


End file.
